


Welcome to Black Valley

by sigh_no_more



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Grantaire is a radio host, Multi, Welcome to Nightvale AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-10
Updated: 2014-02-10
Packaged: 2017-12-26 04:37:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/961640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sigh_no_more/pseuds/sigh_no_more
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire is the cynical voice of the community radio in the isolated town of Black Valley. He reports on the workings of the Secret Police, headed by Inspector Javert, missing interns, and perfect newcomers with perfect hair. You know. The usual. </p><p>Or an AU inspired by Welcome to Nightvale.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Newcomers

 

Grantaire strummed his fingers as he waited for the rather lengthy song he had just put on to finish. Today was one of the few days when he didn’t feel like talking. It was unusual for him, because if there was one thing he knew it was good at, it was spurting out words like a geyser. Tonight though, he had too many thoughts whirling around his head, thoughts of something new and beautiful. Every other topic seemed mundane in comparison. But it was his job to talk about the daily happenings of their small town of Black Valley, so he supposed he’d better get on with it.

“Welcome back, listeners,” Grantaire said. “That was the weather. And, and now, I’d like to talk about the elephant in the room.”

He sighed loudly, swiveling in his chair. He didn’t want to talk about it, but it was hard to focus on much else until he addressed it.

“I am of course referring to the elephant statue that usually sits in the town square. It appeared mysteriously in our offices overnight. Its posterior is currently taking up more than half of my studio. No one knows who or what put it here, or for what purpose. I personally suspect _Marius Pontmercy_.”

Grantaire paused, imagining the indignant sound Marius would have made as he and Cosette listened to the show together. It had become a running joke with their friends- if something inexplicably went wrong, blame it on Pontmercy. Poor Marius had yet to figure out that it was a joke, and would vehemently protest his innocence every single time. Sure enough, the phone line was blinking red, and Grantaire’s personal phone was buzzing. He knew Marius had called the studio phone so he could proclaim his innocence to the entire town. Grantaire chanced a peek at his phone- it was a text from Cosette, probably chastising him. He’d get to it later.

“The only good thing to come from this inconvenient and frankly tacky landmark being here is there was a street urchin living in it. Young Gavroche has agreed to be our new studio intern, filling in for former intern, Eponine, who has been missing ever since she began investigating the Corinthe wine shop. Eponine, if you’re still out there, you are missed.”

Grantaire rubbed his face. He had told Eponine the stupid Corinthe story wasn’t important. The Corinthe was the only wine shop in Black Valley Grantaire hadn’t entered, because it was common knowledge that if you ate or drank anything in the Corinthe, you could never leave. It was a ghost café that appeared and disappeared at random times and in random places. If you went in, it might vanish, and you would either starve to death, or be forced to eat something, thus trapping yourself forever. Grantaire hoped the Corinthe would reappear soon enough for Eponine to get out.

“But welcome, Gavroche. It was a rare stroke of luck to find an intern who already has the necessary stealth and evasion skills mastered.”

Grantaire thumbed through his notes. More sightings of hill people on the mountains that surrounded Black Valley. Boring. Dr. Joly asking everyone to come to the hospital to get flu shots. Ridiculous. How would getting stabbed by a needle stop anyone from getting sick? He riffled through some more papers, wishing something more interesting happened, when he saw a police report. This was promising.

“Former mayor, and current fugitive Jean Valjean was spotted on High Street today. A pickup truck had fallen on Old Man Fauchelevent. Valjean appeared, apparently out of nowhere, lifted the truck off of him, then disappeared again. Head of Secret Police, Inspector Javert urges anyone with information on the fugitive’s whereabouts to come forward.”

Grantaire spun around in his chair, not minding how his headphones became all tangled as he did so. He glanced at the wall clock. He only had about five minutes left in his program, which was good. He had some news he wanted to save until the end- best for last, as it was.

“Listeners,” Grantaire paused dramatically. “Listeners, something unexpected happened yesterday. As I’m sure you are aware, our little town had three strangers arrive earlier this week. Of course, no one knew who they are, why they came, or even what they looked like. All we knew was they planned on staying ‘indefinitely’.

Naturally this raised a few eyebrows, as the only people that stay in Black Valley willingly are people who were born here, fugitives, workers from shadowy government organizations and the criminally insane.

You know who you are.”

Grantaire tried to run a nervous hand through his hair, almost knocking off his headphones as he did so. Thank God he wasn’t a television host, because he did a lot of embarrassing shit he was glad no one except Feuilly or the interns could see.

“Anyway, the three strangers. They were at the town hall meeting last night, and they did not disappoint. I’m sure most of you have already met Courfeyrac.”

Grantaire smiled as he remembered the gregarious man from the night before. He had bounded up to Grantaire with a huge grin plastered on his face, and enthusiastically shaken his hand.

“I’m sure he already has half of your phone numbers, since he has promised to throw a party for the entire town, so he could meet his new neighbors. (More details on that as the story develops).

There was also Combeferre, who is a scientist. I asked him what kind of scientist and it appears he dabbles in many different areas. I think he might be some kind of a genius. He seemed especially passionate about moths. When I told him I hoped his stay in Black Valley would be “mothome”, he laughed.

That was the moment I decided I liked Combeferre. I appreciate people who appreciate lame puns.

Last, but most certainly, not ever least was Enjolras.”

Grantaire practically sighed the name. He felt his hearts beat faster at the mere mention of the perfect man.

“Listeners, he was the most beautiful thing I have ever seen in my entire life, even including the hallucinations we collectively experience during the annual summer solstice festivals. I would use a cliché and say he looked like an angel, but he looked nothing like the angels that hang out with Sister Simplice. Those guys are creepy. No offense. I’m sure they are very nice celestial beings, but they weird me out.

Enjolras was more elusive than the angels, or his friends. He showed up about half way through the meeting, and tried to slip in unnoticed. But listeners, when you are that radiant, it is impossible to enter a room unobserved. And I swear, the moment I laid eyes on him, time stood still.”

There was a frantic banging on the window. Grantaire looked up to see the station manager Feuilly pressed against the glass, shaking his head wildly.

“My apologies, listeners. I meant time stopped in the figurative sense. There is no need to panic. I’m sure last Tuesday’s incident will not be repeated. City Council has assured us that the problem has been resolved.”

Feuilly gave him a thumbs up. Grantaire rolled his eyes. What was the point in trying to soothe the nerves of an uneasy public? If time was _actually_ fixed (doubtful- it had been on the fritz for years), there was a whole host of other fucked up things that could happen to anyone at any time. Grantaire didn’t see the point in sugarcoating that fact, but Feuilly disagreed. And he signed Grantaire’s paychecks, so Grantaire just went with it.

“Anyway, when I first saw Enjolras, time _figuratively_ stood still. Then something even more amazing happened. As I was staring at Enjolras…”

Shit that sounded bad.

“As I was observing Enjolras, for _reporting_ purposes, he looked back at me. And when our eyes met. It was like I stared into the abyss and the abyss stared back. And listeners…I liked it.”

He silently reveled in the memory. Enjolras had gorgeous blue eyes that Grantaire could wax lyrical about for days. They were filled with passion and fire and conviction. If eyes were actually windows to the soul (as a scientific study at the local university was close to proving absolutely), then Enjolras had the most beautiful soul in the world. Grantaire would give anything for another glance from Enjolras. One glance from Enjolras could make or break a man, and Grantaire frankly didn’t which it was, as long as he could see those eyes looking back at him.

And don’t get him started on those perfect, golden locks of hair.

There was a knocking on the glass. Gavroche and Feuilly both stood there, looking amused. Oh. Maybe Grantaire’s silent musing weren’t as silent as he thought. Feuilly pointed at the clock.

“Well, listeners, that’s about all we have time for. Uh, more on the newcomers as we gather more information. For reporting purposes. Because we here at Black Valley radio are professionals. So, until tomorrow, Black Valley. Try not to get killed.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading. I've been marathoning Welcome to Nightvale, and this AU just popped into my head. I think the piece works as a standalone fic. I have some ideas for a possible plot, if I decide to make it a multi-chapter thing, but I'm not sure if this AU really works, so I was hoping for feedback. So if you liked it, hated it, please let me know. :) 
> 
> Also the "I stared into the abyss" bit was taken from this:  
> http://dancetaire.tumblr.com/post/53796151014/ladyjolras-no-but-imagine-a-girl-trying-to  
> which is one of my favorite tumblr posts of all time. OP is now at http://baesuzy.co.vu/, and the author of the tags is at dancetaire.tumblr.com. 
> 
> Come say hi at babesatthebarricade.


	2. Breaking and Entering

“Good evening, listeners,” Grantaire wiped his fingers on his pants. His hands were greasy from his dinner (a double cheeseburger with onion rings and a root beer) Gavroche had given him. He wondered how Gavroche had known what he wanted. His culinary whims changed on a daily basis and he hadn’t told the boy what to order.

This only strengthened his growing suspicion that Gavroche was psychic. How else had he known the exact order when Grantaire never got the same thing twice? (Okay, not the exact order- Grantaire would have preferred a real beer instead of a root beer, but he had a feeling Gavroche knew that and was just being a smart ass). Of course, Grantaire didn’t voice his theory out loud to anyone, lest the Secret Police get wind of it. They had a habit of making psychics disappear.

Grantaire picked up his notes with his still slightly oily hands. He repressed a sigh with difficulty. More murder and mayhem.

“Good evening,” he repeated. “We start now with breaking news: Jean Valjean, former Black Valley mayor, and current fugitive was spotted again this week. If you remember, last week, he saved Old Man Fauchelevent from being crushed from beneath a truth. This time, Jean Valjean was seen breaking into people’s houses and leaving small monetary amounts in various places. Valjean was found by Madame Bougon, leaving cash in her attic, but he escaped before he could be brought in.

Head of the Secret Police, Inspector Javert, has called on all citizens with any information on this quote, ‘repulsive reverse thievery’ to come forward. To Jean Valjean, if you’re listening, I would like to say: shame on you. Shame on you for making the good citizens of this town live in fear of such dastardly deeds. I myself am vulnerable to such an act of villainy, as I am trapped in the studio until I am done delivering news to the good people of Black Valley.

What if I come home to find a reverse theft has occurred against _me_? After all, I live alone in the brownstone at the end of the Rue St. Denis, and will not be home until at least 11. I can only dread coming home and to number 64 and seeing Valjean has entered my house through the backdoor, the key to which is under the garden gnome, and then deposited petty cash around my place of residence. That would be terrible.”

Grantaire wondered if Valjean did listen to his show. For reasons he couldn’t fathom, his show was wildly popular, so it was a distant possibility. He shrugged.

“In other news, I spoke with Combeferre, the scientist. He told me that there is an abnormal amount of energy in Black Valley. I asked him what kind of energy, and he said he had to run more tests before he could be certain.”

Grantaire scrunched up his face, trying to remember the encounter. Combeferre had used a lot of scientific terms Grantaire only vaguely understood. He had never been particularly interested in math or science himself- his academic interests were always related to the humanities, something he knew had pissed his father off to no end. He had finally broken through Combeferre’s enthusiastic scientific ramblings, and gotten him to break it down to layman’s terms.

“Combeferre did mention the mysterious energy may have something to do with a temporal and spacial displacement of epic proportions. But don’t worry, listeners. He assured me he doesn’t think it will have any immediate catastrophic effect on us.”

Of course, Combeferre might be lying in order to keep the public calm. But Grantaire decided to leave that opinion out of his report.

“When I asked him where the energy was coming from, he said that he could only find traces of it, and its origin seemed to be migrating. I then asked if Combeferre was in town to study the energy, but then Courfeyrac appeared and said they had a ‘thing’ they had to get to, and couldn’t answer any more questions, and then they left. Sadly, Enjolras, perfect Enjolras, Enjolras of golden locks and ideals, was nowhere to be seen. In fact I have only seen him once since our initial meeting, at the newsstand. I had to explain to Enjolras that the newspapers are invisible, a concept which he had difficulty accepting.

I was concerned he had been snatched by the hill people to be offered up in a ritual sacrifice to their gods- a fate that has befallen beautiful fair-haired Black Valleyians before. Another possibility that has crossed my mind is that the hill people might have caught glimpse of Enjolras and decided he is an actual deity and still decided to abscond with him. But Musichetta, owner and favorite barista of local café the Musain assured me that she saw Enjolras this morning as he bought an espresso- a morning ritual of his, so I am told.”

Grantaire wondered if maybe he should add going to the Musain to his morning routine. The only problem was he didn’t have a morning routine, since he regularly slept past noon. He used his late night shifts at the radio station as the reason, although laziness was also a large part of it. However, with the right motivation…

“Apparently, he got the espresso to go, and used one of those eco-friendly reusable cups. While such environmentally sustainable measures are ultimately pointless, as man will undoubtedly and inevitably destroy the world, it is endearing that Enjolras tries.”

Gavroche slipped into the room, and handed Grantaire an envelope, with a wax seal on it, bearing the insignia of the mayor’s office. Grantaire rolled his eyes, because really? Wax seals and insignias? How pretentious could you be?

“This just in, listeners,” Grantaire said, carelessly ripping open the envelope. “And from the mayors, no less.”

He scanned the paper quickly. He hated when the government sent them memos. He had to drop everything and cover whatever they were upset about, and it was usually boring.

“The Thenadiers, you know, our two-headed mayor who ousted Valjean in a fair election that was in no way a shady coup, have demanded all citizens who received monetary supplements from said Valjean to go to city hall for questioning. All upstanding citizens who submit to questioning by midnight tonight will _not_ be subjected to torture. So hop on it, listeners, because that is a rare, limited time offer!”

He riffled through his papers. “After you’re done being interrogated, I suggest you go on down to Monsieur Mabeuf’s movie theater, where he will be playing a midnight double feature: Spiderman 1 and 2. Because ‘what third movie?’”

Grantaire’s eyes widened when he saw two familiar people knock on the window- Courfeyrac and Combeferre. To his disappointment, Enjolras was not with them.

“And now we go to the weather,” he said, waving the duo in. After he turned off his mic, he swiveled to face them. “Gentlemen. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“We were going to try and visit you at home later, but we decided we didn’t want to interrupt any reverse thefts,” Combeferre said wryly.

“Thank you.”

“We’re getting ice cream with the money we found later,” Courfeyrac said brightly.

“After we go to City Hall for questioning,” Combeferre said.

“Right.”

Grantaire felt slightly offended. “Valjean broke into your house before mine? I thought about voting for him that one time.”

“You didn’t vote?”

“Waste of time,” Grantaire shrugged.

Combeferre and Courfeyrac both looked disproving by this lack of civic enthusiasm, but Courfeyrac snapped out of it first.

“This wasn’t just a social call,” he said. “We wanted to ask you about the library.”

Grantaire froze. “The library.”

Combeferre nodded. “You seem to know what’s going on in this town. We noticed the library has no visible entrances. We were trying to do some research into the town, but when we did a web search for Black Valley, some tar started oozing out of the screen and then the computer spontaneously combusted.”

“It was my computer,” Courfeyrac added mournfully.

“Are you insane? Why do you want to go to the library?” Grantaire hissed.

“For research,” Combeferre said like it was obvious.

“You can’t just _go_ to the library. You can go to the library’s coffee shop, but you can’t just look at the books. You need a level 7 clearance for that.”

“He’s joking,” Courfeyrac said. “You are joking, right?”

Grantaire rubbed his face. He didn’t want to get involved in whatever shenanigans Courfeyrac and Combeferre (and quite possibly Enjolras) were up to. Unless….if Enjolras were also up to these hypothetical shenanigans…then whatever they were looking for could help Enjolras. He sighed.

Even people who knew all the rules of Black Valley could get themselves into a deep pile of shit when they kept their heads down and minded their own business. These newcomers, who thought you could just go to the _library_ and get _books_ , and were poking around were definitely going to get themselves into trouble. But maybe, if he gently guided them, armed them with knowledge, Enjolras and his friends could come out of this unscathed. Of course, that was highly unlikely, but if there was a tiny, sliver of a chance he could help Enjolras, Grantaire didn’t really have a choice.

“Alright, I know a guy-” Grantaire abruptly stopped when the weather ended. He waved for Combeferre and Courfeyrac to sit down. “And that was the weather. We’ll go now to traffic. Expect a few delays, as Main Street has inconveniently turned into a boiling river of lava. And is spreading to neighboring streets. My advice: unless you have the ability to fly, or are in possession of a hovercraft, stay indoors.”

A paper airplane hit Grantaire’s face. He caught a glimpse of the back of Gavroche’s head disappearing around the corner. Scowling, he opened the airplane and saw a bulletin from the Secret Police.

“Breaking news. The Secret Police deployed their wraiths, only used in the most urgent of Secret Police business, in their hunt for Jean Valjean. Remember, citizens. Do not run from the wraiths. They will only chase you. And they can smell fear. So don’t be afraid. Personally, I drown my fear in alcohol, and I have so far had zero wraith-related injuries. The downside of this tactic is last year I sustained a mild concussion after walking into a lamppost.”

Grantaire turned the sheet over. “Apparently, the wraiths attempted to bring in Valjean’s daughter, Cosette Fauchelevent in for questioning to see if she knew of her father’s whereabouts, but her boyfriend, one Marius Pontmercy fended them off using a blowtorch and flame throwers. Human agents of the Secret Police brought him into the station for holding.”

 _Idiot_ , Grantaire thought furiously. Cosette had learned from her father how to hide when situations got sticky, and now Marius had gotten himself arrested, and would most likely be mysteriously killed or sent to the mountain mines for permanent exile.

Grantaire’s phone buzzed. He nonchalantly turned it over, and saw it was a text from Bahorel- his secret contact within the Secret Police.

            Khal Drogo: Pontmercy ok for now. Will make sure he gets released.

Grantaire swallowed. He had no idea how Bahorel would get Marius out, but if Bahorel said he would protect Marius, that meant he would protect Marius, and he didn’t have to worry any more. He tried not to be concerned for Cosette either.

He looked down, and saw he was now holding a completely different sheet of paper. How the fuck had Gavroche done that? Grantaire cleared his throat.

“More from City Hall. Mayor Thenadier and Mayor Thenadier have just completed a press conference. They have ordered the search for Jean Valjean to be over for the time being, as the trail went cold. The wraiths will be recalled. All money receivers are still expected to submit themselves for questioning. If anyone sees Jean Valjean again, it is imperative that they report it to Secret Police as soon as possible. And with that, listeners, I conclude tonight’s show. So, until tomorrow, Black Valley. Try not to get killed.”

Grantaire switched off his microphone. Combeferre and Courfeyrac were staring at him intently.

“ _What_?”

“Cosette Fauchelevent is Jean Valjean’s daughter?” Combeferre said.

“Well….yeah,” Grantaire said. “Obviously. Who else’s daughter would she be?”

“Old Man Fauchelevent?” Courfeyrac suggested.

Grantaire stared at them. “No. Of course not. Jean Valjean is Cosette’s adopted father, and they temporarily assumed the surname.”

“So there’s no relation to Old Man Fauchelevent. And now he’s Valjean again but she’s still Fauchelevent.”

“Yep.”

Grantaire didn’t understand why this was such a difficult concept to grasp. But Combeferre and Courfeyrac were staring off pensively, so Grantaire felt compelled to ask, “Does it matter?”

“We knew Valjean had a daughter,” Combeferre said, carefully measuring his words. “But we didn’t know who she was.”

“Enjolras wants to talk to her,” Courfeyrac said. Combeferre shot him a look that was not missed on Grantaire.

“Because she’s Cosette, or because she’s Valjean’s daughter?” Grantaire asked.

“You’ll have to ask him yourself,” Courfeyrac said casually. “As soon as I heard that, I texted him to come to the station.”

“You _what_?” Grantaire’s hands flew to his hair, which was of course a disaster.

“Well, you said you’d help us with the library,” Courfeyrac said. “So you did something nice for us, I’m doing something nice for you.”

“How is that nice?”

“We listened to your show the first day we got into town,” Combeferre informed him calmly. “And every day since.”

“Oh God,” Grantaire buried his face in his hands. “Enjolras too?”

“No,” Courfeyrac assured him. “He’s always been out, or too absorbed in whatever he’s reading.”

Grantaire didn’t know if he was relieved for disappointed. Maybe a bit of both.

“Oh.”

“We won’t tell him,” Combeferre said gently. “We figured that you should do that.”

Grantaire nodded. “Right.”

They sat in uncomfortable silence for a few minutes, before Grantaire remembered he promised to help them with the library. “I’m friends with Jehan, the head librarian,” he said, already regretting this. “I’ll see if I can get him to meet with you and maybe help you out.”

“Thank you,” Combeferre said.

“Much appreciated,” Courfeyrac added.

“What’s much appreciated?”

Grantaire felt the air leave his lungs. He felt his hearts beat faster, for there, standing in the doorway was Enjolras, no less radiant than the first time he saw him.

“Grantaire’s helping us get into the library,” Courfeyrac said.

“ _Maybe_ ,” Grantaire corrected him weakly. “I have to ask Jehan first.”

“Oh. That’s helpful. Thank you,” Enjolras said, turning his full attention to Grantaire. It was terrifying and wonderful at the same time.

“Sure,” he breathed.

“I was hoping you could also help me. I’m looking to get in touch with Cosette Fauchelevent.”

Grantaire wasn’t so dazed that he couldn’t ask, “Why?”

Enjolras’s brow creased for a second. He glanced at Combeferre, and an agreement seemed to pass between them. “I had a message to deliver to her father. That was before we realized he went underground. So I think it belongs to her now.”

“Oh.” Grantaire was dying to found out what that message was, but felt he would be pushing his luck if he pressed it further. “Sure. I guess I could get you two in touch.”

“It’ll have to wait,” Courfeyrac cut in cheekily. “Combeferre and I have to get to City Hall for questioning. And we can’t leave Enjolras alone, or apparently, he might get snatched by hill folk-”

“ _What_?” Enjolras must really not listen to Grantaire’s show.

“So Enjolras, why don’t you leave Grantaire your number so he can call you sometime.”

Grantaire didn’t know if he wanted to kiss or strangle Courfeyrac. Enjolras blinked, as if hadn’t quite understood what was just said to him.

“We’re on a deadline,” Combeferre said dryly. “Getting tortured was not on my schedule for the week.”

Enjolras wordlessly plucked a pen from Grantaire’s desk and took a piece of scrap paper Courfeyrac offered him and scrawled nine numbers- nine beautiful, magical numbers- on it, before handing it to Grantaire. Grantaire stared at the papers, then back at Enjolras, then back at the paper. Enjolras shifted uncomfortably.

“So…call me sometime? And we can talk?”

“Yeah, sure,” Grantaire said dazedly.

Then Enjolras’s face broke into a beautiful smile, and how was it possible that he looked even more gorgeous when he smiled. It just wasn’t fair.

“Great.”

Grantaire waved robotically as the trio left. Then he stared at the piece of paper.

He had Enjolras’s phone number.

He grinned, and pocketed it. Today had been a good day. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is a series I am now apparently writing? I had a lot of really nice comments on the first part I wrote, so thank you so much to those people! I have a general plot outlined, and I'm having a lot of fun writing this, so thanks for reading. 
> 
> Feedback is always appreciated. Come say hi to me at babesatthebarricade.tumblr.com. (Unlike the hill people, I don't bite.)


	3. Stone Hearts

 “Hello viewers. It feels like it’s been forever and no time at all since we've talked.” Grantaire mused as he swiveled in his chair. “Maybe the more accurate description is since I've talked to you, since you are merely listening to the sound of my voice. Unless you talk back. 

If you frequently try to interact with the sounds you hear over your radio, I suggest you go outside and make new acquaintances. Shake the hand of your neighbor, go to a party, or join a team sport. Popular Black Valley team sports include dodgeball, Quidditch, and ancient Mesoamerican handball. I personally recommend ancient Mesoamerican handball. Because what brings people together more than the threat of imminent death that faces the losing team.

Not that I play many sports anyway, Black Valley. Or like to get emotionally attached to other living beings, given our town’s abnormally high death rate. There’s no sense in taking the trouble to care about something that will probably break your heart.

My pet rock, Fluffy and I get along splendidly.”

Fluffy, Grantaire thought, was an excellent companion. His pet rock did not judge him for his many,  _many_  faults. It did not try to steal his booze. It was an excellent listener. He didn’t need anyone else. He and Fluffy were getting along alright.

As if the universe wanted to prove how hilariously inaccurate that assertion was, Grantaire’s phone buzzed. A text from Enjolras.

 No. Grantaire was a radio professional. Semi-professional. The point was, he was not going to stop in the middle of doing his job to answer a text from a beautiful blonde boy who might be in mortal danger at this very moment.

He stared at his phone as the light fade. Oh, the hell with it.

            Enjolras: Can I see you after work?

Grantaire wondered what Enjolras wanted to talk about. He had already taken Enjolras, Combeferre and Courfeyrac to see Jehan at the library. Which of course, he could not talk about on air, even if he really wanted to, because that venture had been highly illegal.  

“Anyway, listeners, uh,” Grantaire tried to text Enjolras back in the affirmative while simultaneously reading his notes. It was not going well. He finished fumbling with his phone, and tried to at least pretend to be professional. “Uh, news. News, news, news….”

His phone beeped again.

            Enjolras: What does ‘sboulyty’ mean?

Shit.

“Absolutely.”

Double shit. He just said that out loud.

“Combeferre, Courfeyrac, I know you’re listening. Please tell Enjolras it means, ‘absolutely’. To the rest of you listeners who are not Combeferre or Courfeyrac, don’t worry about it.”

Well that was…not good…but it could have been worse.

“Anyways… the news,” Grantaire cleared his throat, hoping it might make him sound more like a serious newsperson. “Marius Pontmercy has been freed from police interrogation. As you might recall, listeners, he was brought into custody after preventing police wraiths from bringing one Ms. Cosette Fauchelevent in for questioning. Ms. Fauchelevent remains at large.”

Grantaire breathed a sigh of relief that Marius was safe…for now at least. Thank the gods that Bahorel had been able to get him out. He was of course probably under 24/7 surveillance from the Secret Police, but at least he wasn’t dead or in exile.

“In an attempt to locate Ms. Fauchelevent, the Secret Police will conduct random searches of Black Valley citizens’ homes.”

He grimaced. He hated when they did random searches. Despite the “random” nature of the random searches, Grantaire’s house was almost always hit. The perils of being in the media, he supposed; he hadn’t said anything blatant enough on the radio that would get him arrested, but he had certainly said enough for the Secret Police to view him suspiciously, which he supposed, good point. But they always _broke_ stuff in his house. A lamp, a flower pot…if they were going to force entry and upturn his house, was it too much to ask that they gently riffle through his possessions?

“In other news, we have two new interns at the station. Young intern Gavroche turned up today with two children. Gavroche too is a child, but these were even childlier than him. Gavroche announced that he is now the children’s guardian, and that they will shadow him from now on, and live with him in the elephant.

For those of you wondering, the giant elephant statue is still in our offices. Many attempts have been made to return it to the town square, but every time it is removed, it will mysteriously reappear the next morning. Perhaps this is a conundrum local scientist Combeferre will be able to solve. For now, the elephant’s posterior is no longer occupying my studio, so I no longer especially care.

Anyway, welcome, New Intern 1 and New Intern 2. At some point, I will need Gavroche to tell me their names.”

Speak of the devil…New Intern 1 slipped into the studio, and gave Grantaire a few sheets of paper before scampering off.  

“New Intern 1 has just handed me some of the questions you sent in. I am astounded these letters made it in, since the Post Office has been taken over by a particularly troublesome poltergeist. I do not know if the Post Office’s resident poltergeist listens to the radio, but if he or she, or whatever your preferred pronouns are _does_ listen to this particular show, I would please like to have my packages delivered at some point. Preferably sooner than later, because of the perishable nature of some of those certain packages. Never any of you mind what’s in them.”

He flicked through the letters.

“It appears many of you saw Enjolras and I around town this past weekend and are inquiring about what we did.”

That was a potentially problematic query, since Grantaire had been taking Enjolras to the library to see Jehan. (Combeferre and Courfeyrac had trailed behind by a few minutes to draw less attention to the group). What was it about Enjolras that made Grantaire eager to break the law in such a flagrant fashion? Perhaps that was part of Enjolras’s appeal- the sense of danger that accompanied him.

“I hate to disappoint you, my loyal listeners, but I have nothing to report, other than how divine Enjolras and his luscious locks look out in the sunlight.”

And the fact that Jehan had taken instantly to the trio of newcomers, and had agreed to help them with their research into Black Valley. He had even showed them a secret entrance to the library so they could come and go easier.

“Although I’m sure Enjolras would look just as divine in the moonlight. I actually tried to alert him to his ethereal appearance. I told him, ‘Why Enjolras, you are positively glowing today’. This caused him to panic, as he had fallen into the Black Valley Lake the night before while helping Combeferre collect water samples for a ‘hazardous waste experiment’. I tried to salvage the situation and say I meant he looked radiant, but he grew concerned that he was glowing radioactively, and said he should have Combeferre examine him. In a last ditch effort to get my point across, I said I would be more happy to examine him any time, to which he responded by saying he didn’t know I was interested in science.

At this point listeners, I thought it best to give my miserable attempts at flirting a rest, as Enjolras thought he was slowly turning into a mutant. I have seen my fair share of mutants- as have we all, here in Black Valley- and I am sure that Enjolras would be the most magnificent mutant the world has ever seen, but this did not seem a comforting notion to him, so I drove him home.”

Grantaire had been convinced he had blown all his chances with Enjolras, but at least Enjolras was still texting him. It was probably work related, but it was still better than nothing.

“The drive home was rather unpleasant. Not because of Enjolras, who was just as enrapturing company when he is stressed as when he is in his usual state of overwhelmingly enthusiastic optimism. But it was because of Main Street. You all know, I’m sure of the recent problems Main Street has been having. It was boiling lava, then it was frozen over, which while at first meant we got to go sledding, quickly proved to be a major inconvenience. This past weekend, Main Street was covered in fog.

The fog seemed like it went on forever, and a drive that should have taken five minutes turned into hours as the road stretched into eternity. City officials are unsure why Main Street has turned into a hellish foggy landscape, and are still working it out. Drivers report a feeling of helplessness and a sense of nothingness after their recent drives through Main Street, so be on the lookout for that. Also, be aware of drivers who don’t use their low beams in the thick fog.

Jerks.”

He was surprised when he realized Gavroche was standing at his side. How long had he been there?

“And now the weather,” Gavroche said, leaning past Grantaire to access the microphone.

“No, that’s my line,” Grantaire said, pushing the microphone away.

“But Grantaire-”

“Stop. I wasn’t done-”

“Fluffy is dead!” Gavroche blurted out.

Grantaire blinked at him in shock.

“New Intern 2 was going around the neighborhoods as part of his stalking training, and he noticed that your apartment had been hit in the Secret Police’s random search, so he went in and checked it out. And well…”

Gavroche, uncharacteristically somber as he handed Grantaire a brown paper bag that contained hundreds of pieces of what used to be Fluffy. He felt something catch in his throat.

“And now the weather,” Grantaire said dully, switching the music on.

Gavroche patted his shoulder sympathetically. He paused, then reached into his pocket. “Here’s the $20 I asked New Intern 2 to steal from your dresser. I think you deserve it back.”

“Thanks Gavroche,” Grantaire said, clutching what remained of his pet rock.

It was stupid, to get attached to an inanimate object, but Grantaire had thought it was brilliant at the time, because really, who expected their pet rock to get crushed in random police searches? He _should_ have seen it coming, because hadn’t he learned by now, that if you let yourself care about _anything_ , it would inevitably come back and bite you in the ass?

He sat, hugging the paper bag for he wasn’t sure how long, when there was a knock on the glass. Feuilly, who was frowning sympathetically pointed to Grantaire’s mic. The room was silent. Oh, the music was over.

“So that was the weather. I hope you enjoyed it. There isn’t much more to discuss. Black Valley remains the black pit of despair it always has been, so take care of yourselves and each other, if you can. Until tomorrow, Black Valley. Try not to get killed.”

Grantaire switched the microphone off, and plopped his head down on his desk. Now on top of everything else, he got to return to his apartment, which he was sure was a mess after the police search. Not that it was usually clean to begin with, but at least his messiness had a system. Kind of.

He didn’t lift his head when he heard a knock on the window. Whatever Feuilly had to tell him could wait.

“Should I come back tomorrow?”

Not Feuilly. Enjolras. Grantaire sat straight up.

“No, no. I didn’t realize it was you.”

Enjolras was looking at Grantaire with concern. He took in a deep breath. The words that followed were not ones that Grantaire was expecting.

“I’m sorry about Fluffy,” Enjolras said.

Grantaire wanted to vomit and  _die_. He gripped Enjolras’s arm tightly. “You were listening to the show?”

Enjolras frowned, no doubt confused by Grantaire’s extreme reaction. “No, I was working. But Combeferre mentioned it to me and he said I should be nice.”

“Oh.”

Enjolras tilted his head. “Am I usually not nice?”

And okay, that was not the reaction Grantaire was expecting. “Uh…you’re…you’re great. You’re always great. Stupendous, even.”

A small smile broke out on Enjolras’s face. “Oh. Good.” He fiddled with the hem of his shirt. “Shall we?”

“You haven’t told me where we’re going,” Grantaire pointed out.

“Is it safe here?” Enjolras eyed one of the microphones.

“It isn’t safe anywhere,” Grantaire told him. 

Enjolras took that as an invitation to continue.

“Last week, you said Cosette might be staying with the nuns.”

Grantaire nodded. It made sense. Cosette had been raised by the local nuns. They were also a powerful Sisterhood, well versed in keeping evil forces at bay. Of course, Black Valley was still a shithole, but it would probably be worse if the nuns didn’t do whatever cleansing rituals they did. Their convent was one of the few safe(ish) places in the city.

“Well, I asked around, and I might have a lead to get us in.”

“You were _asking around_?”

“Jehan,” Enjolras said. “I talked to Jehan, and he had an idea.”

Grantaire would have to talk to Jehan about telling his ideas to Enjolras.

“So you want to try to go to the convent?”

“I managed to make contact with one of the Sisters. I have to meet them in the forest later tonight so they can decide if they’ll help or not.”

“Are you going alone?”

Enjolras nodded.

“It isn’t safe.”

“I thought nowhere was safe?” Enjolras said, raising his eyebrows. “I didn’t want to tell Combeferre or Courfeyrac, because they would try to come with me. But I’m telling you, so in case something happens you can let them know.”

It was really lucky, Grantaire thought, that it was Fluffy, and not Enjolras who was broken into a hundred unrepairable pieces.

“You’re not going alone, you idiot. I’m coming with you.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if anyone is still reading this, since it's been forever since I updated. (Grantaire's opening? That was also the author to the audience, because it feels like forever, but also time has flown by and I can't believe it's February 2014). 
> 
> Sorry if this chapter is a little off. I'm trying to get a feel for this AU again. I can't make any promises for how long it will be until I update again after this, but hopefully not more than four months again. If you're still reading- thanks!


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